


Abyss

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Flipside AU [9]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Filbrick Pines Is A Jerk, Ford Pines is a Good Brother, Gen, Oh Dear, Shermie Pines is also a Good Brother, Stan and Filbrick confrontation, Stan's tired of being afraid, as good as he can be under the circumstances, the Pines parents come to Gravity Falls, this will not end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: Filbrick finally finds out that the son he had such high hopes for has reconnected with his screw-up twin brother.And he's not pleased about it.Stan can't hide from his father forever, and as painful as it is, he's going to have to finally face him, and complete this stage in his hero's journey, so to speak.Part of the Flipside AU, to reassure my readers that I haven't forgotten about it.
Relationships: "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Ford Pines, "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Stan Pines, Filbrick Pines & Stan Pines, Filbrick Pines/Caryn Romanoff Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Flipside AU [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223
Comments: 108
Kudos: 193





	1. Chattering children can be hazardous to your health

It was a beautiful spring day in Gravity Falls-the weather was getting warmer, but it was still just cool enough that you could comfortably wear a coat or a long-sleeved shirt without being overheated, and the gnomes were running around like rabbits (Ford wasn’t sure if he wanted to know how they were multiplying, considering that they seemed to be a predominately-if not exclusively-male species, and kept trying to steal human females to be their queen if the old one died). The snow had all melted away, and blossoms and flowers were blooming everywhere, attracting butterflies, bees, and certain types of fairies.

Also, for the last week anomalous and supernatural tourists had been coming to town in droves, wanting to see how the human world lived, so the Pines boys-and Dan Corduroy, who helped out with running the gift shop-were quite financially well-off.

It was too good to last (you probably saw that coming, didn’t you?).

* * *

Stan had just finished another successful day of touring the town, and he was singing a little nonsense tune to himself as he parked the golf cart next to the house, before snatching the treasure chest and towing it up the porch steps. He’d just reached the front door, when it burst open to reveal Ford.

Instantly Stan could tell something was up; his twin’s cheeks were flushed, and a few clumps of hair were sticking out on either side of his head, a sign that he’d been tugging on them in frustration or distress. He let go of the chest at once, and straightened up.

“What happened?”

“Nothing yet.”

Somehow that was not at all reassuring.

“...Is the house about ta blow up or somethin’?”

Ford grimaced, in a way that was-again-not at all reassuring.

“No, no, but I-I just got off the phone with Shermie. Apparently he’d been trying to call us sooner, but I was in the basement so I didn’t hear it.”

Stan’s gut clenched. “Is everyone okay?”

_ We seriously need to get a phone for downstairs, this is the fifth time something like this- _

“Yes, but  _ listen _ , Stanley-” Ford clenched his hands together in front of him- “Mom and Dad were visiting them during spring break, and Dad accidentally overheard Xander talking to Shermie about their plans for summer vacation, and-”

As if on cue, there was the sound of a car steadily driving down the dirt road towards their house.

Stan froze in place, barely able to hear over the sudden blood pounding in his ears.

Ford swallowed nervously. “I think that’s them.”


	2. An (un)happy Pines family reunion

Ford was impressed; he’d never seen anyone go from standing still to running in that short of a timespan before.

In what seemed like only the blink of an eye Stan went from being frozen on the porch to halfway to the woods.

Unfortunately for him, Dan had played football and done some wrestling in high school, and he was still in shape enough (well  _ duh _ , this was the guy whose nickname was well on the way to changing from “Boyish” to “Manly”) to appear out of nowhere-actually from the side of the house where Ford had suggested he wait-and bring Stan down with a flying tackle.

“TRAITOR!” Stan roared, trying unsuccessfully to throw the lumberjack off, “If I had a will and you were in it, I’d  _ disinherit  _ you!”

“Sorry man,” Dan rumbled, “but Ford’s payin’ me fifty bucks.”

Stan snarled out a few impressive curses at both of them as he struggled to regain his freedom.

Ford approached cautiously, maneuvering until his brother could see him, but staying out of his reach just in case.

“Stanley, listen.” He knelt until they were more or less at eye level. “I promise, I didn’t expect or want this to happen. But since it is happening, I think it would be best for everyone if you don’t run away.”

“So whaddya want me to do?!” Stan demanded furiously. “Cuz if you’re expectin’ me to be nice ta that money-grubbing bast-”

“No! I’m not saying you have to be nice to him at all!”

His brother blinked. “...Come again?”

Ford sighed, chewing his lip and adjusting his glasses while he worked out how to say what he wanted to say. “What Dad did to you was-unforgivable. And I don’t know if telling him that would make any difference or help him to realize that he was wrong, but I- _ feel _ -” it was a weird thing to think about, what he  _ felt _ was a good decision instead of what he  _ thought _ \- “that you need to find...closure with him. Even if it’s by punching him in the sunglasses, or telling him to go to hell. It probably won’t change anything, but-” he struggled for the right words again- “...maybe it will be good for  _ you _ to get it all off your chest.”

Stan’s expression was still tense and unhappy...but it had become less hostile. He stopped trying to escape from Dan, who, at Ford’s nod, allowed him to sit up.

By now the car was almost to the house; as they all stood and watched it approach, Ford realized that a) it was Shermie’s car, b) their brother himself was driving, and therefore c) the figure in the passenger seat was most likely their father.

_ Probably made Shermie drive him and Mom here so they wouldn’t have to pay for bus fare. _

“How the heck did he call us if he was driving?” Stan asked, frowning.

“He called from a payphone when they stopped to get gas in town.” Ford swallowed, wishing that would somehow get rid of the rock that had dropped into the pit of his stomach, or the clamminess of his hands. “Figured a few minutes of warning was better than no warning at all.”

“How considerate of him,” Stan muttered, before turning on his heel and marching towards the house. He slammed the door shut just as the car pulled to a stop in the driveway.

Ford sighed and pulled out a handful of cash, pressing it into Dan’s hand.

“Thank you. You should go home now.”

“You sure?” Dan rumbled.

“Yes. This is a private family matter.”

“Fair enough.” Dan nearly knocked him down with a hard pat on the shoulder. “Lemme know if you guys need to come and get drunk when it’s all over or something.”

Ford managed a thin smile, before swallowing down his nervousness and approaching his family.

* * *

The first one out was Mom. As soon as she shut the car door behind her, she rushed over and pulled her son in for a hug.

“Stanford! It’s good ta see you, honey. Sorry we dropped in like this, but...Filbrick insisted. Thought it was high time we come see what our boy’s been up to out here in the woods.”

Shermie was next, giving him an apologetic grimace over the top of the car before coming over and patting his shoulder as Mom finally released him.

“Hey, Ford.”

And then the man himself was out, face expressionless-but with an almost tangible aura of anger sizzling in the air around him.

Ford nodded to him, and swallowed. “Pa.”

“Stanford.” Pa leaned against the car, arms folded, in his ‘I’m waiting for an explanation’ pose.

For a moment the little group stood frozen in a small mosaic, waiting to see who would make the next move. Ford kind of hoped that Stanley would come out and help him to get this over with...but there was no sign of his twin. So at last he swallowed and decided to change the subject that hadn’t even been brought up.

“...How long are you planning to be in town for?”

“Just for the night,” Mom said apologetically. “...Is it all right if we stay here? I know the timing’s not the best, but-”

“No, that’s fine-” a lie, but honesty was the best policy except when it wasn’t, which was often- “you know you’re always welcome, Mom.”

Taking that as his cue, Pa went around to the back of the car and pulled out their bags, handing two of them off to Shermie, who came around to help. And, feeling more than a little helpless, Ford led all of them inside.

To his surprise, when he opened the door he saw that the living room had become almost-spotlessly clean.

_ Ah. Good call, Stanley. _

His experiment with trying to create the equivalent of an electric current using unicorn hair had been cleared away; all the books that were until recently on the floor were neatly stacked on the shelves; the giant thumb coffee table was covered with a blue sheet that was clearly meant to be a makeshift tablecloth, so it just looked like an oddly-shaped, lumpy table. Nothing at all supernatural or out of the ordinary was in sight. And Stan was just now coming down the stairs, carrying an armful of Ford’s papers and a bottle of cleaning spray in his other hand.

“Hey, Mom, hey, Shermie.” The deliberate snub was not lost on Ford-nor, if the clenching of his jaw was anything to go by, on Pa. “Just tryna clean up for you-we don’t get a lotta visitors, so this lazy slob just leaves his stuff everywhere.” He gestured at Ford with the cleaning spray.

Mom managed a halfhearted laugh. “That’s all right, Stanley.” Then, without preamble she rushed over and pulled him into her arms. “My goodness, you’ve gotten so big! What’ve you been eating ta make you so tall, hmm?”

“Grizzly bears,” Stan quipped, wrapping his free arm around her as much as possible and squeezing for all he was worth. Ford realized that this was the first hug he’d gotten from their mother in years; the thought made his throat become unexpectedly tight.

And then Pa’s hand landed hard on Ford’s shoulder, and his father was saying, “We need ta talk, boy.  _ Now _ .”

Shermie let out an annoyed sound. “Dad, can you not-”

“It’s okay,” Ford assured him. And he led his father to the room where his secret passage to the basement was so they could have a little privacy in case either of them started shouting.

“I’m surprised at you, Stanford,” Pa said as soon as the door shut. “I thought you’d finally come ta your senses and got rid of that dead weight, and suddenly you just out of the blue decided ta let him move in?” His eyes probably narrowed, but it was hard to tell behind his sunglasses. “How much is he payin’ ya for rent?”

“Wha-” Ford stammered over his words. “He’s not paying me anything!”

“Well he should be!” Pa snapped. “He should be actually doin’ somethin’ ta earn his keep, instead o’ livin’ off all your hard work! You’re falling back into the same patterns, boy, and if you insist on keepin’ him around for whatever-the-heck reason it’s gonna ruin you-”

“ _ Actually _ , Pa,” Ford said venomously, “Stan’s been the one providing most of the income between the two of us. He’s started up a very successful tour business-”

“ _ Tour business _ ?! In a podunk town like this?!” The old man scoffed. “If you believe that, then you’ve been  _ had _ .” He loomed over Ford, prodding him in the chest with one thick finger. “I’m only gonna warn you once, Stanford: that idiot’s a bad influence, and he’ll bring you nothing but trouble. Get rid of him.”

And he marched out of the room like he owned the place.

Ford clenched his fists, trying to stop the moisture from rising in his eyes and feeling a wave of shame overtake him when he couldn’t.

_ He’s  _ not _ a bad influence! _ he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs.  _ Stan’s a far better person than you’ll  _ ever _ be, you jerk, and if you’d  _ listen _ to me just once I’d tell you that! _

But he’d had his moment to defend Stanley from their father’s accusations, and he’d lost it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be so hard on yourself, Ford. I tend to freeze up when my d-when people chew me out too.


	3. The price is right

Since he couldn’t run or hide from the problem of their father any longer, Stan had resigned himself to facing him. Not just yet, exactly-but he was forming a plan for what he was going to do.

When Ford rejoined them, he had gotten a spot in the attic cleaned up for their parents, complete with a big air mattress for them to sleep on, and deposited Shermie’s stuff on the sofa in the room that used to hold Ford’s electron carpet (when Ford told him it could be used to switch bodies, Stan had pointed out in no uncertain terms what a dangerous thing that was to have lying around, and made him move it to a less accessible part of the house). Now they were all settled in the living room, where Pa was sitting in Ford’s chair- apparently taking it for granted that he could do that just because he was the family patriarch-while Stan told Mom and Shermie about an incident that had taken place during one of his tours.

“...and the kid would’ve fallen into the lake if I hadn’t swerved the cart so hard it nearly fell over!” Since Pa was there, he left out the fact that they were being chased by the Gobblewonker at the time; his audience laughed anyway, especially when he mimicked the level of crazy driving he’d had to do to get the little brat back into the vehicle safely. He’d been completely ungrateful too, whining about how he’d been trying to catch a fish until Stan reminded him that he’d have to pay a carrying fee for anything he brought aboard the cart before the tour was finished.

To Stan’s alarm, when his brother came into view Ford’s eyes looked a little red rimmed, and the rest of his face and posture indicated general feelings of unhappiness; but when he glanced at him with an unspoken ‘are you okay?’ he nodded back, and headed for the kitchen.

Stan decided to check on him anyway.

“...I’m gonna help Ford figure out what we’re gonna feed everyone, so you guys just sit tight, ‘kay?”

“You sure? I can cook-”

“You’re our guest, Mom, it’s time for us to show you that not all your lessons on cooking were lost on us.” And Stan hurried into the kitchen after Ford before she could argue.

He found his brother glaring down into a cookbook without looking like he was reading any of it, clenching his jaw and trembling.

Stan put a tentative hand on his shoulder; to his relief, Ford responded by leaning into his touch, and letting his shoulders sag.

“Let’s figure out what we wanna feed them, okay? Take this one step at a time.” Stan didn’t ask what kind of crap Pa had said to Ford; he didn’t have to. It probably wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, or thought about himself.

Ford finally nodded, and straightened up, blinking hard and rubbing his eyes. “I do have a little bit of strychnine left in the basement…”

“Mom and Shermie are gonna be eating with us too.”

“I wouldn’t put it in  _ their _ food. And it wouldn’t be enough to kill.”

“Ha, ha. Let’s just make noodles or something.”

Despite their protests that they could handle things themselves, Mom and Shermie eventually came in and insisted on helping out with the meal, which they decided would be beef stroganoff, and even set the table for them. Pa, predictably, did nothing but sit and read the newspaper.

Aside from his presence, the little gathering was warm and friendly, with Shermie telling them what Xander was up to these days and Mom making them laugh with stories about some of her more gullible clients. Shermie reiterated his desire to bring his little family up to visit for the summer, and Stan happily imagined how much fun the little gremlin would have running around after gnomes or whatever.

When the food was finally ready, everyone sat down around the table and dug in; Pa gave a small grunt of approval at his first bite, but other than that he was mostly silent.

Stan, even though he continued and talk and laugh with his family, was also lost in thought, working on calculations.

* * *

Things were peaceful again, more or less, until bedtime, when the moment finally struck.

Stan was in the bathroom brushing his teeth (Ford had persuaded him that he needed to take better care of them unless he wanted to wear dentures when he got old), when his father’s face appeared in the mirror, over his shoulder.

_ Yay, symbolism! _

Stan’s hand jerked, accidentally spattering toothpaste on the mirror. He grabbed the hand towel and wiped it off, then hung it back on the hook, before he rinsed and dried himself off.

“...Pa,” he said softly, putting his toothbrush back in its holder and feeling disgusted with himself when his hand trembled.

“Do you remember what I told you when you left?” Pa asked, voice somehow managing to be gravelly and icy at the same time.

“You mean when you kicked me out? Yeah, it’s kinda hard ta forget.” Stan didn’t even try to hide the bitter sarcasm in his tone.

Pa growled. “Don’t you backtalk me, boy! I got ridda you so you’d stop ruinin’ things for this family. I don’t know how ya wormed your way back into leechin’ off your brother, but-”

_ That _ was the absolute last straw.

“Lemme stop you right there.” Stan held up a hand-and to his shock, it actually worked: Pa stopped talking.

It probably wouldn’t last long, if the clenching of his fists was anything to go by, so Stan said, “Hold that thought,” and shoved past him, hurrying over to his room. He dug his old dufflebag out from under his bed, and snatched it up, coming back to the bathroom and setting it down hard on the sink. He opened it, revealing: neatly folded stack after neatly folded stack of cash.

It was most of Stan’s earnings received from selling their gold in the city. And now he grabbed one, two-then, as an afterthought, three-stacks, and after counting them quickly, he turned and held them out to his father.

“Here.”

Pa stared at it, jaw slack.

“I did the math; this is about the cost of everything ya had ta spend ta feed and clothe and look after me all the years I was still living at home. Maybe throwin’ in a little extra for all your time and trouble.” When he still made no move to take it, Stan leaned in and tucked the cash into the pocket of his overcoat. “Funny, there’s less than I expected, but I guess I wasn’t worth as much as I thought.

“It’s not those millions you wanted, but it should still be enough ta tide you and Mom over for the next eight or nine years-probably more if you’re frugal with it like I know you will be.” Stan closed the duffel, zipping it shut in one fluid motion, then picked it up. He took a deep breath. “Sorry I was such a problem for you, Pa. Hopefully this will be enough compensation ta make us even.” And with that, he turned and walked out, heading to his room without looking back.

His hands trembled even harder as he slipped inside; once he closed the door, he leaned against it with a long, shuddery exhale.

_ I can’t believe I just did that! _

_...But it was so, so worth it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking of having a confrontation like that between Stan and his dad for a long, long time.  
> It was very satisfying to write.


	4. Raise a glass to freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have never been drunk in my life. Because I don't drink.  
> Therefore my knowledge of how to be drunk is very limited, and mostly based on the idea that it's similar to being very, very sleep-deprived (which I have been on probably far more occasions than is healthy for me). My suspicion is that if I did drink, I would be either a very giggly drunk, or a very angry drunk.
> 
> Reading the chapter to the end will clarify why this is valid.

“You  _ what _ ?!”

Shermie and Ford both stared at Stan, aghast, as he continued to scramble eggs after telling them how he’d essentially bought himself from their father.

Stan grinned. “You shoulda seen the look on his face-it was even better than the time when we went to that restaurant with the triple-decker steak.”

Shermie snorted, hard. “Oh wow...I always knew you were crazy, Stanley, but this-this exceeded even my expectations.”

He did a little theatrical bow, twirling the spatula between his fingers. “That’s what I do best.”

When their mother came down, however, some of his ebullience-a lot of it, in fact-dissipated at the look on her face.

Ford’s stomach twisted in a hard knot, because even he could see that level of heartbreak.

Stan winced, and turned off the burner. “...Hey, Mom.”

Mom looked up at him sadly for a moment, before at last whispering, “This isn’t gonna be fixed, is it?”

Stan let out a sigh that was equal parts sad and frustrated as he set down the spatula he’d been using. “Whaddya want me ta do? Beg and plead for him ta say I’m part of the family again? It wouldn’t work, Mom, and even if it would…”

Even when he had still been mad at his brother, Ford knew he wouldn’t have wanted him to sacrifice his dignity to that extent. He wanted it even less now, when he understood better what had happened and wasn’t a stupid hormonal teenager.

Mom was trying hard not to cry now. “Stanley…”

“Am I gonna lose you too if I can’t make things up with him?” Stan suddenly asked.

It snapped Mom out of her despondency somewhat: her eyes widened, and then she jabbed a finger into her son’s chest.

“Stanley Pines! What kinda mother ya take me for?! What, ya think I’m gonna tell ya ta shove off just cuz your pa’s got a big stick up his-”

The rest of her words were muffled in Stan’s shirt as he pulled her into a hug.

“Just checkin’,” he whispered into her hair. “Love ya too, Mom.”

* * *

Pa came down a while later, and sat stoically through breakfast, before telling Shermie, “Pack up the car when you’re done. We’re leaving.”

Shermie blinked. “Already?”

He nodded. “Gotta get back to the shop. The rubes ain’t gonna fleece themselves.”

The oldest son sighed. “You got it, Pops.”

Pa gave him a sharp look at the slight insolence in his tone, but then went back to eating the eggs.

Since they hadn’t brought much, it didn’t take them long to get ready to leave. Mom held both her boys tightly, wringing out promises for them to call her more often, and then Shermie took his turn for some more affectionate noogying and apologies for not getting to spend more time checking out their home. Then they were putting their things in the car, leaving them alone on the porch with Pa.

Ford wondered if he was going to say-well, anything.

An apology was most likely too much to hope for, but-well, something. Something to prove that he was a human being, not a robot.

All he did, though, was give a small nod, and then turn away and head for the car.

As they watched it drive back down the road, Ford said, “...We need to go to Dan’s place.”

“What for?”

“I need a drink.”

* * *

On the Corduroy cabin’s front porch, Dan poured out more of his family’s home-brewed liquor and handed it over.

“Sounds like you guys had a rough time.”

“...Wasn’t so bad, not after I gave ‘im the money,” Stan muttered into his glass.

“Ya shouldn’t’ve done that,” Ford scolded; his words slurred more than usual, finally making him sound like a Jersey boy for once. “‘S wasted on ‘im. Prolly never even spend it.”

Stan shrugged, and held out his glass again. “S’not my money anymore. I don’t care.”

The part of Ford’s brain still capable of rational thought wondered what exactly was in this Corduroy family recipe. Dan had said it was apples...or mostly apples. Definitely had apples in it. It was powerful stuff, whatever it was; they’d only been doing this for half an hour and he’d already reached the point where the edges of his vision were going in and out of focus, and he needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down. He squinted at Dan.

“How’re you handlin’ this stuff so well? You’re lit-ral-lit-little-little-er-ally younger’n we are, you’ve had less years ta build up a tolerance for drink.”

Dan smirked. “Guess I’m just manlier than you.”

Ford glared. “Ha. Ha. You even drinkin’?”

Dan pointedly poured himself a glass of whatever-he-called this stuff (Crumble? Scramble? Something like that), from the same bottle they’d been using, and gulped down a shot.

Stan whistled appreciatively. “You’re good.”

“Got a lotta Scottish in my blood. Makes it easy.”

“Nice.”

“...I shoulda stood up ta him better,” Ford muttered finally.

The other two stared at him.

“He started sayin’ all this crap about you bein’ a-a bad influence an’ stuff, Stanley, and I tried ta defend you, but I just...froze up. I failed you again.”

“What? No, nononono, don’t do that ta yourself.” Stan scooted his chair over next to Ford’s, not heeding the horrible scraping noise it made on the wooden boards, and slung one big arm over his shoulder. “S’not your fault, ‘kay? Dad’s-Mom says I got pershonality, but he’s got one too. Big one. Size’a New York City-big. Not an easy one ta go up against.”

“What, are you-are you sayin’ I  _ don’t  _ have personality?” Ford gave Stan a wounded look.

“No, no, ‘course not. Jus’ not a pers’nality used ta fightin’ people. ‘Specially not Pa.” Stan squeezed him. “Not your fault.” He ruffled Ford’s hair...and then gaped at it in wonder. “Whoa. Your hair’s real...floofy. Heh heh. Floof, floof, floof.” He continued playing with it, giggling, until Ford swatted his hand.

He felt a little comforted by Stan’s words...but not much. “S my job,” he insisted stubbornly, staring at the middle of Stan’s three faces floating before his eyes on the assumption that it was the real one. “Needa...fix things. Last time-you were homeless cuz I couldn’t get over myself an’ help you, so I needa-”

“Hey, I shouldn’ta hung around your project, so I wouldn’t’ve broken it, so you coulda gone ta the dumb  _ science _ college. You’re more important than a boat, Sixer, an’I made ya feel like-likit was the other way ‘round.” Stan suddenly snatched the bottle off the table, began chugging down the rest of its contents.

“Hey! No fair, gimme that.” Ford grabbed for it, leading to a sloppy tug-of-war that ended with the-grumble? No,  _ scumble _ ,  _ that _ was the name of this stuff-splashed all over both of them.

Ford put the bottle back on the table with a resigned sigh, and then wrapped his arm around Stan.

“You’re more important’n a college, St’nley,” he murmured, letting his heavy eyes droop shut. “Shoulda remembered that too…”

Soon enough they were both snoring, completely passed out on each other.

Dan threw away the empty bottle, and went inside to grab a blanket, which he draped over both of them. Then, as the effects of the scumble finally started to hit him, he just made himself comfortable stretching out on the porch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When they wake up, all three boys are VERY hungover. Stan and Ford end up staying until they're feeling well enough to stand and walk home without throwing up, while Ford tries to deduce the ingredients for a hangover cure Fiddleford came up with in college. As best he recalls, it included a raw egg, Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce, but he could never get his friend to divulge the rest of it. He resolves to experiment until he deciphers it on his own-as soon as his head stops feeling like it's all stuffed with rocks that keep rolling around and banging into each other.
> 
> Stan has a few nightmares while he’s sleeping them off, but he doesn’t remember them that well when he wakes up, just being surrounded by a lot of indistinct whispers.
> 
> Anyone who can figure out the drink reference gets this imaginary award: 🏆


End file.
